Dean's Long Night
by Jasmineisland
Summary: Dean can't sleep. And he's not happy about it. Rated T for Dean's potty mouth. One Shot


Insomnia

Tick

Tick

Tick

The sound of the clock was deafening in Dean's ears. Only Dean knew it wasn't really that loud. It only seemed that way on the 4th night of no sleep.

Tick

Tick

Tick

During the day, whenever Sam asked him why he was so tired, it was too easy to blame the younger man, claiming that his snoring would wake the dead. Only waking the dead wasn't that hard, they both knew that. So maybe wake people in China from their shitty motel somewhere in the southwest US.

Tick

Tick

Tick

The last time Dean had managed more than a ten minute cat nap- of which Dean would deny that name for it till the day he died- was the night they'd successfully burned some dude that had decided throwing shit at his living brother was better than going into the light. Or whatever the fuck they were supposed to do when they dropped suddenly of a heart attack. But it also might have been thanks to the 'celebratory' beer. Or the Jack. Or Missy- Muffy- Melanie- whatever the fuck her name was. Is celebratory a word? Dean wondered to himself.

Tick

Tick

Tick

Fuck

Fuck

Fuck

Dean's thoughts were almost timed to the off beat of the clock for a few moments before he caught himself. Who used those old clocks that ticked anymore, anyway? Have the assholes that ran the joint ever heard of digital? But there is was, on the nightstand, just ticking away, just annoying the absolute fuck out of him.

Tick

Tick

Tick

All he needed now was a drip in the bathroom to really make him want to tear something apart. But then, Sam would figure out something was wrong. Maybe. Short unexpected bursts of violence never seemed to phase Sam when they came from him. Unless they were directed at Sam, which on occasion, the little shit had it coming. Little? Where the fuck did that thought come from? Little was NOT a word anyone used to describe Sam. Freakin' Sasquatch, right down to the wild-ass floppy hair. Dean smiled at the comparison and how it never went without a bitchface from his brother.

Tick

Tick

Tick

The smile faded, pissed off was back. Fucking clock. Fucking bed. Fucking hotel. Fucking sleep that seemed to be on permanent hiatus from him. A car went by. At least that was something different. They were in a shithole town where nothing was out past midnight. So there was no noise. Other than that absolutely annoying fucking clock on the nightstand between the beds.

Tick

Tick

Tick

As if he needed a reminder how annoying it was. Dean shifted, chancing a glance across the room to check on Sam. With the only light coming from outside through a crack in the curtain, all Dean could make out was a large somewhat human shaped lump under the blankets. This was his shit. Not Dean's. Sam was the one that was probably close to his bloodshot eyes making the world record for no sleep. Dean was the one that slept, much to the sometimes annoyance of said brother. Apparently the time had come for role-reversal.

Tick

Tick

Tick

-Fucking annoying, that's what it was. How did Sammy do it? Oh yeah, ninja-skills on the laptop kept his overactive brain occupied. Dean preferred porn sites to Wikipedia, but that would definitely wake up his brother. Besides, he'd already tried jerking off in the comfort of his own bed. Made him tired, but he still couldn't manage to drift off. Although the slightly annoyed glance Sam shot his way when he stepped on Dean's dirty boxers on the floor had been worth a chuckle. At least Dean remembered what his dick was there for. As far as he could tell, Sam's dick could have fallen off for all the use it had gotten in the last, what, year or so? Oh, shit. It was REALLY time to sleep if Dean was actually contemplating Sam's solo sexual habits.

Tick

Tick

Tick

Mother Fucking Clock just kept reminding him that he was awake. As if he needed the reminder. God Damned clock on a fucking table in the middle of hell- scratch that. This was not hell. Not even a close second. Dean had been to hell and this wasn't- okay, scratch that, too. THAT train of thought was never going to get him to sleep. Ever again. Puppies. That's it. Think of puppies with their puppy-dog eyes just like Sammy. Despite his annoyance, Dean smiled to himself. Bitchface #23 would follow that thought if he ever shared it with his brother. But he would make a cute puppy- of course he'd be a fucking mastiff. But with a cute face. Better not encounter any witches while he's thinking like that. Could happen. And Bitchface #43 would be born. But it would be attached to 200lbs of dog instead of a man. And even though Dean could hold pissed-off Sam at bay when he had two legs, Dean wasn't so sure about a Mastiff version. And pissed-off wouldn't begin to cover it.

Tick

Tick

Tick

This time Dean was grateful for the clock interrupting his thoughts. They were REALLY wandering out there. Dean began to wonder why every thought running through his over-tired, short-circuited brain came back to Sammy. Simple. They always had. First fucking Directive – like Star Trek, except the whole 'don't get involved' thing. No wonder his mind had one track. Watch out for Sammy. Get involved, clean it up, straighten it out, fix it, kick ass if necessary. Most of the time the kid in question was an ungrateful little shit. There's that "little" word again. But sometimes the kid came through. Like this morning. Pouring down rain and Sam volunteered to go for the breakfast run, then the laundry run, then he even put gas in the Impala while he was gone. Gave him time for one or two of those 'cat-naps' that SO weren't cat-naps. Poor kid was soaked to the bone when he got back, but still asked Dean if he wanted to jump in the shower first. Huh, maybe Sam had realized how little Dean was sleeping these days.

A small smile crossed Dean's face, and for the first time that night his eyes slid closed. His breathing evened out and his whole body relaxed.

Tick

Tick

Tick

Dean's eyes opened and his arm swept out in a punch towards the offending piece of shit on the nightstand. His relief at hearing the clock shatter was short lived.

"What the fuck, Dean?" and Sam was sitting up and pulling pieces of the offending clock out of his hair and rubbing what was probably going to turn into a lump on the side of his head.

A few pieces flew back across the room and landed on Dean.

"It was possessed, Sammy. I swear that bitch was possessed."


End file.
